


Discordant

by xerios



Series: Killjoys [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Cyborgs, Cyborgs Wanting to Destroy the Earth, F/M, Implied/Referenced Murder, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Major Violence, Minor Violence, Outrageously Exaggerated Plans for the Destruction of Various Celestial Objects, Robots, Robots Wanting to Destroy the Earth, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-03 05:24:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4088569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xerios/pseuds/xerios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unexpected explosions, everyone's favorite murderbot, and the world's most ironically named walking dead girl. Sequel to Expiration Dates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Somewhere on the coast of South America, a freighter was just pulling in to dock. The port itself was not exactly reputable, but then again neither was the ship. Smuggling was a lucrative business, especially nowadays.

So many parties wanting so many goods.

Of course, there were the usual dangers involved in getting caught as well as other, more unusual dangers - namely SHIELD poking their noses into everything. Obviously, this wasn’t enough of a deterrent. Since the agency’s re-institution, it had developed an insistence on tracking restricted materials - this had led to a sort of arms race. Most ships hired mercenary companies, or - if they were lucky - they found a disreputable person with abilities beyond that of a normal human to play guard duty.

The captain of this particular freighter disliked the growing number of super-powered entities in his profession, but acknowledged that it was an asset. His name was Howland Marbeck for some unfathomable reason. There were two ‘freaks’ on his payroll, though neither of them were on the ship - they’d been given another assignment. A special delivery, of sorts.

Marbeck was used to dealing with all sorts of clients in this business, so nothing tended to surprise him. Not even walking into his office to find a robot sitting at his desk was enough to freak him out too much. He knew that the rumors surrounding the missing arm of one Ulysses Klaw were not, in fact, rumors. He had also heard of the events in Sokovia, half the world away - an entire city lifted up into the sky by a swarm of robots. There were lots of pictures on the internet of it, dozens of viral videos, and even a bidding war over part of a hand that had been recently shut down by the aforementioned nuisance that was SHIELD.

So Marbeck knew of Ultron, but had not altogether expected the previously declared deceased automaton to be paying him a visit.

“The new said you were scrap metal,” he stated, kicking the door shut before sidestepping over to a cabinet to grab out the bottle of whiskey he kept hidden there. This kind of situation required he be slightly less than sober. “Another victory for the Avengers and their crusade for justice. Warms my heart to see they failed for once.”

“It was not for lack of trying.”

Marbeck chuckled, pouring out a glass for himself and taking a swig before turning to face the robot.

“Right. What do you want here? I don’t deal in weapons like Klaw. Though he’s not done much dealing since his run in with you.”

“I imagine it’s difficult to be an arms dealer when you’re short an arm,” Ultron said, tilting his head to one side. “I’m here for what’s in container six-one-three.”

“Ah, yes...that.”

Marbeck took another sip of his whiskey, thinking a moment on how best to break the news.

“...I don’t have it any more.”

“What?”

“It’s gone,” the smuggler said, waving his free hand in a vague gesture at the door. “Been gone five days now.”

“Who did you sell it to?”

“Did I say I sold it? No, it was a trade. Worth so much more than money.”

Ultron stood up, chair slamming back into the wall. To his credit, Marbeck didn’t flinch.

“And who, pray tell, did you trade it to?”

“They go by the name ‘gravedigger’,” Marbeck replied, tossing back the rest of his drink. “Sort of a dabbler in everything, they are. But they don’t deal in money so it’s very hard to get their services.”

“They?”

The smuggler shrugged, setting aside the glass.

“No one knows if it’s one person or more. Never shown a face, you see.”

“Well, this has been maddeningly unhelpful.”

“I’m sorry my friend.”

Marbeck, blinked, for the robot’s demeanor had changed from mildly annoyed to infuriated far too quickly to register. The desk went flying into the wall, shattering and splintering on impact. Ultron stalked forward, grabbing the smuggler by the neck and slamming him against the cabinet.

“We. Are. Not. Friends.”

There would have been a response on Marbeck’s part if a bullet had not pierced his skull just above the right ear at that precise moment.

Ultron dropped him, startled. He looked quickly to the window, spotting the tiny hole the bullet had made in the glass and the little spider web cracks radiating out from it. His eyes narrowed, calculating the trajectory, intent on searching out the sniper.

 

* * *

 

Across the road from the docks were a number of half-way abandoned buildings, one of which used to be a hospital as evidenced by the large red and white universal medical plus sign still painted on the building. Atop the roof, a solitary figure decked in what appeared to some sort of exo suit dropped the rifle it had been holding in favor of running away from the rapidly approaching flying robot. It made a beeline for the other end of the roof only to skid to a stop as another robot levitated into view.

“ _Perfect_ ,” the figure intoned, the voice it projected very obviously not it’s own. It held similarities to the verbal search engines housed on some phones, though with a slightly more emotional edge to it. “ _Congratulations/on/your/failure._ ”

The drone tilted it’s head at this cut and paste style of speaking.

“What?”

Half a second later, something collided with it, sending it careening off to the side. The exo-suited figure peered over the edge of the roof as it went slamming into the ground some ways away. Head turned to track the return flight of an unwieldy looking hammer as it went zipping off towards its owner several rooftops away.

“Do you think bringing them into play will distract me?” Ultron asked, landing heavily on the hospital roof to glare at this unforeseen variable in his plans. “You’ve meddled and you’re in my way.”

The visor of the exo-suit lit up briefly as the wearer turned to look at him, before blinking back out to solid black. There was a head tilt - very slight - giving it a look of contemplation.

“You must be the one they call gravedigger.”

“ _Very good!_ ”

There came a sound of rapid applause, though the figure didn’t move an inch. His glare narrowed and in frustration he lunged forward. The gravedigger dodged back, except that the movement meant going over the edge of the roof. This didn’t seem to bother it much. She - the broadcasted voice was of a decidedly feminine variety - dropped with a mock salute.

“ _Goodbye!_ ”

A propulsor blast prevented Ultron from chasing after her. Instead, he was forced to deal with the more immediate problem being presented. Namely, Stark in his suit slamming into him and sending him skidding across the roof.

“Well, Junior, can’t say I’m glad to see you,” Stark said, preparing another strike.

“I assure you, the feeling is mutual.”

Ultron dodged the next propulsor blast and sent one right back, summoning a few more drones to the scene. These ones were sturdier than those he’d used in Sokovia. He’d had more time to refine their production.

Five of them converged on the room, distracting Stark for the moment and allowing Ultron to refocus on his quarry.

The gravedigger had not fallen to her death, but instead had dropped to a lower roof level before proceeding to flee inside and down. He located her just as she came roaring out of the lowest level on a motorcycle, speeding away from the scene. He flew after her, pacing the bike easily.

The gravedigger glanced sideways at him.

“ _Helloooooooo friend!_ ”

He glared, adjusting flight propulsors to lunge sideways at her. She swerved, visor briefly flashing a sad faced emoticon. For a few brief seconds it seemed she would lose control of the bike. Speed lost, he lunged again only to be thwarted again - this time by the caped figure of Thor. As Ultron turned to deal with the Asgardian, the gravedigger regained her balance and zoomed off, trailing dust.

 

* * *

 

“Alright, what happened?”

“Third party interference,” Stark answered wearily, gesturing at one of the screens on the quinjet. “Also fourth party interference. Just generally interference all around. And, might I add, that none of it is my fault this time.”

Rogers sighed and shook his head.

“Stark…”

“I’m being serious. No one here had any idea. No one. One second we’re sneaking up on the place, the next Marbeck’s got a bullet in his head and Ultron’s...alive. How did that happen?”

“We’ll have to ask Vision when we get back,” Rogers replied, glancing over the monitor. His frown deepened. “So what do we know about this sniper?”

“She’s called the gravedigger,” Romanov answered without glancing up from quinjet’s console. “Mercenary, assassin, and trader of black market goods. She started popping up about five years ago and has since gotten quite the reputation.”

“Well, she definitely pissed the tin man off.”

“Do we know what he was after?” Thor inquired, moving up to glance out the cockpit window. “More vibranium?”

“Yes and no. Marbeck’s records indicate that container six-one-three had a number of different materials. Vibranium, yes, but not much of it. But the most valuable thing in it...adamantium.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Nope.”

“Adamantium?” Rogers asked, glancing at Stark. “Sounds familiar.”

“Same elemental grouping as vibranium,” Stark explained. “Much rarer. It’s also indestructible if processed properly.”

“Guess that explains why Ultron wants it.”

“Yeah, but there wasn’t that much in the container,” Romanov added, tapping a side screen to bring up a scanned inventory listing. “Enough for a hubcap on a very small car. Maybe.”

“So I guess the question is, what does the gravedigger want with it?”

“Well, it’s valuable as a trade good. Find the right people, you could make billions. But all the information we’ve got on her states she doesn’t deal in money.”

“Really?”

“She deals in favors and objects of equal or greater value.”

“So what?” Stark asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “We offer a trade on craigslist and hope she takes the bait?”

“No, we need to focus on finding Ultron,” Rogers countered, turning the screen off. “He’s the bigger threat. This gravedigger’s just pocket change.”

“So we kill two birds with one stone. Make the trade set up obvious and trap them both.”

“I like your thinking, Romanov,” Stark said with a nod. “But what do we use as bait?”

 


	2. Chapter 2

|| _For the record, this plan is stupid._ ||

“Thanks for the pep talk, Rhodey,” Stark muttered, fiddling with wires of a portable security camera. “How’re things topside?”

|| _Looks clear._ ||

“Good.”

The location they’d chosen was an old foundry in northern Pennsylvania, picked mainly because the nearest town was mostly abandoned and largely believed to be haunted. It would be easy to track any and all approach vectors. They had arrived three days early to set up, well before ever actually reaching out to make the offer they’d been planning on.

They had only just sent out a message on making some sort of trade fifteen minutes before, officiated by Romanov who seemed to know the most about the gravedigger’s methods. The ex-assassin sat on a fold out chair nearby, tapping away on a laptop as he finished setting up their surveillance system.

“Anything yet?”

“No,” she answered, not glancing up. “And before you ask, no, Vision has not found any leads on our wayward murderbot. He’s keeping his tracks well covered this time around.”

“Well, that’s fantastic.”

Stark sighed, starting up the ladder to install the last camera. He stuck it into place and plugged the wires in, adjusting it until he was certain it covered the angle of the room it was supposed to.

“ _That/looks/expensive_.”

“Holy hell,” Stark snapped, nearly falling off the ladder. “Do you not know how to knock?”

Across the room, Romanov snapped her laptop shut, shoving it aside and drawing her gun in one smooth motion. The gravedigger’s visor lit up with a smiley face on it as she turned to look at the ex-assassin, posture declaring that she was not in the least bit concerned over the possibility of being shot.

“ _Oh/you/brought/friends_.”

“Yes, I did,” Stark said, very carefully descending the ladder. “Did you?”

“ _I/don’t/have/friends_.”

“That’s sad,” Romanov said with no real meaning behind the words. “You’re early.”

“ _So/are/you_ ,” the gravedigger stated, before turning her gaze to Stark. “ _I guess/that will give/us/plenty of time to chat_.”

“Why do you talk like that? It’s very disconcerting.”

“ _I/like/to/be/a/mystery_.”

“We’re all very mystified,” Stark said with a nod, trying to gesture at Romanov to lower the gun. It didn’t really work. He sighed at this, reaching a hand up to rub his forehead to stem the onset of what was sure to be a growing headache. “Let’s cut to the chase. You’re early, but that doesn’t mean we can’t make a deal, right?”

Quite abruptly there was an eruption of laughter, several dozen sound bites of it broadcasting from every radio currently in the building including whatever speakers were installed in the gravedigger’s helm. The cameras installed around the room shorted out, sparks shooting out from internal components. Stark took a step back as the gravedigger stepped fully into the room, looking alarmed and very much askance that all his hard work was now gone.

“ _Okay/let’s/hear/your/offers_.”

Romanov shot a glance at Stark, not exactly looking pleased at the situation that had developed. The broadcasted laughter that the gravedigger had sent rattling through the PA system had jammed their comms. Granted, there was a contingency in case that happened, but it would be a few minutes before backup arrived.

“Right, offers,” Stark said, sighing and moving over to the safe he had brought with him. He fiddled with the locks a bit longer than was needed, trying to stall. But before long he had to open it, to reveal a remade version of the portable suitcase suit he had designed a few years back. He pulled it out and turned, holding it up for her to see. “One portable suit, just for you.”

The gravedigger tilted her head.

“ _Why/would/I/need/that?_ ”

“Why wouldn’t you? It’d certainly look better than what you’ve got going on there.”

He gestured at the gravedigger’s own exo-suit, which admittedly appeared to have gained some wear and tear over the past few days. He wondered just how that had happened. After all, she hadn’t even gotten into the heavy hitting the other day. Far from it, she was probably the only one who’d gotten out of the port unscathed.

“ _You/are/an/idiot_.”

“Well, that’s uncalled for.”

“No, no, I have to agree,” came a voice echoing up from the stairwell at the far corner. Romanov whirled, gun now aimed at Ultron as he stepped up into the room. He ignored her, attention focused on Stark and the gravedigger. “Why would you offer something she obviously already has?”

“And you have something better?”

“How about the collective gross income of the entire continent of Asia?”

“Uh...okay, I can’t top that.”

The gravedigger glanced from Stark to Ultron, a sudden glowing red x-mark appearing on her visor.

“ _Why/would/I/need/money?_ ,” she asked, shaking her head. “ _Money/is/dumb. You are/both/dumb. I’m/leaving_.”

She turned back towards the door, but there was a drone standing there, blocking the exit. A sad faced emoticon briefly flashed across her visor, before switching quickly to one of annoyance as she turned her head to look at Ultron.

“You’re not leaving until I get what I came for.”

“ _What’s/that? I/can’t/hear/you/over/how/dumb/you sound_.”

With what could only be described as a snarl, Ultron lunged forward only to be knocked back by the electric jolt of a force field. More recorded laughter played over the intercom system and the gravedigger wagged a finger in the air.

“That’s HYDRA’s shield tech,” Romanov observed, shooting a concerned look at Stark. “I thought we confiscated that.”

“We did. The generators were locked up.”

“ _To be honest/I took them/when/you/weren’t/looking_ ,” the gravedigger stated in a nonchalant manner. Her head was turned to the side, hand held up as if expecting her fingers in a bored sort of manner. “ _They/needed/upgrading. For example/they/can/now/become/bigger/or/small. Isn’t/that/interesting?_ ”

There was a shimmer, and suddenly the forcefield had contracted and divided itself. One dome over each of them, as well as one blocking the drone from entering through the doorway behind her. They were all separated from each other, while the gravedigger was free to move where she willed.

“Okay, we get it, you’re smart and you’ve got toys,” Romanov said, looking displeased. Her gaze darted from gravedigger to Ultron as the robot stood up again, then back. “What do you want?”

“ _Why/would/I/tell/you/that? It/would/ruin/all/the/fun_.”

“What fun?” Stark asked, waving a hand through the air only to have it brush against the force shield. He yanked it back, hissing at the burn it had caused on his finger. “No one is having fun here!”

“ _You’re/right. This/is/kind/of/totally boring_.”

“Let’s make it interesting then. How about...I give you the suit if you take off that helmet.”

This garnered a surprised look from Romanov and an expression that could only be described as how-dumb-can-you-be from Ultron. The gravedigger, however, seemed to be contemplating the offer with all the seriousness she could muster. Three little dots flashed across her visor, one after the other.

“Stark,” Romanov hissed in warning, glancing between him and the gravedigger. “Not exactly a good idea.”

“ _Deal_.”

“What, really?”

The gravedigger shrugged, stepping forward and around, so that her back was turned towards both Romanov and Ultron. The point of such movement was clear - the agreed upon terms were for Stark’s eyes only. The force shield surrounding him dissipated and she held out her hand for the briefcase.

“Uh-uh, you first,” Stark said, gesturing at her visor. “Fair’s fair.”

“ _Fair’s fair_.”

“Okay, that’s really creepy. Stop it.”

More laughter echoed from the loudspeakers as the gravedigger tilted her head. It cut off abruptly as she reached up and hooked the fingers of one gloved hand to the underside of her left jaw, unsnapping something with a soft click. She repeated the motion on the right side, pulling the screen portion of the helmet off with one hand, while the rest of it retracted with a mechanical whir.

Stark stared.

Whatever he’d been expecting, it certainly wasn’t the pale and scarred up face that had been revealed. Nor had he been anticipating the cybernetic components that seemed to be grafted into the woman’s skull. She stared him down with storm grey eyes that were strangely familiar, before raising one eyebrow and gesturing for him to give her the brief case.

He handed it over without a word, still trying to fit the face to a name. The instant the briefcase was in her grip, she stepped back and the force shield flashed back into place with an electric snap. She took a moment to inspect her prize, before dropping it to the floor.

“Hey, hey watch it!”

No sooner had he said it had she stomped on it with a surprising amount of force. The metal buckled, and while it took one or two more stomps to completely give way, the point was made - she didn’t need it.

“That just...was uncalled for.”

“I told you,” she said, true voice low and slightly scratchy. Not the kind of scratchy that comes from smoking too much, but the kind that comes from disuse. “I don’t need a suit.”

 

* * *

 

|| _How the hell did this happen!?_ ||

“I don’t know, I don’t care,” Barton replied, taking aim at a drone that was rocketing towards the facility. “Just keep shooting.”

All hell had broken loose approximately seven minutes prior when the intercoms had started playing that weird laughter, leaving all lines out and in jammed. The unexpected interference had sent him down to investigate, only to discover that every way into the facility was blocked by a force shield. Barton knew that hadn’t been part of the plan, but then again, Stark was prone to improvising when it came to tech stuff. But if this had been a test, he would have left some way to keep in contact.

That the comms were jammed meant something was up and that something was now doing its darndest to put him and Rhodes out of commision. He was grateful that the ear pieces he and the Colonel were wearing hadn’t bugged out, allowing for some sort of coordination.

“Find anything?”

|| _Maybe._ ||

“Maybe?”

|| _Definitely._ ||

There was an explosion on the opposite side of the building just as Clint took down the approaching drone.

“Really hope that was you, Rhodes.”

||You’re welcome. I’ll keep ‘em busy out here. You go get Tony and Natasha.||

“Be right back.”

 

* * *

 

There was the sound of an explosion, causing the overhead lights to flicker. The gravedigger’s helm snapped towards the apparent origin of the disturbance, distracted.

That proved to be a mistake.

Whatever had caused the explosion had knocked out force shields and in the half a second it took for her to realize it, Ultron had lunged forward. The robot slammed into her, knocking her face first into the wall with enough force to crack her visor. A very unhappy face flickered across it for a moment before going blank.

Romanov took this opportunity as it came, moving to yank Stark back towards the stairs before he could protest. This wasn’t a fight either of them were going to win at this point. They hadn’t been prepared for it and Stark’s main suit had been stocked in another room. If they were going to get out of this alive, they were going to have to get there quick.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

“Good thing Rogers isn’t here to hear you,” Romanov quipped as they dashed down the stairs. “He’d have a fit.”

“Don’t even start with that.”

 

* * *

 

With the force field gone and only one person to bypass, Ultron’s drones were soon filtering into the facility. He kept some outside to entertain that silver suited copy of Ironman, but the rest he set about searching. The gravedigger had been wholly prepared for both him and the Avenger’s plots, so it stood to reason that there had to be something useful there. Except cursory sensor sweeps came up empty of everything save the broken surveillance system Stark had installed and an inordinate amount of scrap metal littering the lower levels.

“Where is it?”

He glared down at where she had slumped on the floor after being thrown. The cracked visor flickered briefly as she raised her head. There was static over the intercom, laced with the recorded laughter from before. Growling, he went to kick her only for his foot to hit the wall as she rolled deftly out of the way. Evidently the earlier impact hadn’t stunned her as much as he had thought.

“ _Look, you’re wasting your time_ ,” she informed him, bouncing back up to her feet. “ _And believe me you don’t have a whole lot of time left to waste_.”

On her visor flashed a series of numbers, ticking down.

“ _None/of/us/do_.”


	3. Chapter 3

A very distinct lack of an explosion hung in the air as the gravedigger’s visor flickered and flashed zero. The foundry, by now some half a mile away, was still standing perfectly intact save for a door or two that had been broken down in the midst of a very hasty evacuation. Below, the blurring rush of greenery suddenly slowed to a stop.

She was given a particularly good albeit brief look at a rather tall pine tree before Ultron adjusted his grip to hoist her up to eye level for a really good glare. The hasty evacuation from the facility had basically been a series of motions that equated to him trying to grab her while she dodge rolled out the door. Only a brief misstep on an outside stair had ended that chase with him snatching her ankle and taking off into the sky while his drones kept the Avengers occupied.

As they were still occupied and not exceedingly dead from the explosion implied by her countdown, he was understandably more than a little bit miffed.

“You are becoming very annoying,” he informed her, holding her up by one arm. “What did you do with the vibranium?”

“ _I/-ate/it._ ”

“You...what?”

The perplexed expression that appeared on his face at her answer was apparently very amusing, enough to prompt a real laugh from her rather than the recorded sound bytes she’d been playing earlier.

“ _You’re/fun._ ”

“Don’t laugh at me.”

“ _Or/what?_ ” the gravedigger asked, the emoticon that flashed across her visor that of a very serious pixelated face. “ _You’ll/drop/me?_ ”

“I was thinking something more along the line of dismemberment, but that works too.”

“ _How/about/both?_ ”

A smiley face appeared and before he could process the implication of what she’d just said, she had snapped her hand up to her shoulder to unlock some sort of clasp. With a sharp click, he was suddenly simply holding an arm and she had dropped into the trees below. He stared at the arm, then glanced down at the trees.

“Oh, for god’s sake,” he grumbled, cutting his propulsors and dropping to land beneath the branches. He touched down in time to see her awkwardly attempting to climb down from the nearest tree with only one arm. “That was entirely uncalled for!”

The gravedigger paused, remaining arm gripping a thick branch as she glanced down at him.

“ _But/it/was/funny._ ”

“I’m keeping this until you turn over the vibranium.”

“ _Go/ahead_ ,” she replied with an awkward looking shrug. “ _I/have/more._ ”

At this declaration, he heaved an immensely frustrated sigh. This was supposed to be a negotiation but it was going absolutely nowhere. The urge to simply shoot her and be done with it was rising by the minute.

“Look, I need that vibranium and you...well, you probably don’t right? I mean, what are you going to do with it? Build more arms?”

“ _You’re/smart._ ”

“You’re not,” he growled, annoyance finally reaching the boiling point. He snapped his hand up, aiming a propulsor blast at the tree, burning right through the branches she was currently using to hold herself up. With a crash, she and the branches fell to the ground in a shower of leaves and burnt splinters. He stomped over, plucking her up by her remaining arm and glaring at the cracked visor. It was no longer flickering, now damaged beyond repair. “I don’t think you’ll be pulling that trick again.”

“I guess we’ll have to go with treats then,” she retorted, real voice muffled and raspy behind the mask. Evidently something more than just the screen had been damaged by the fall. “You don’t seem like a candy kind of guy, so how about cake?”

Ultron’s eyes narrowed at this, reaching up to snap off her visor.

 

* * *

 

Sliding into the cockpit of the quinjet, Romanov quickly ran through the start-up sequence. The engines powered on as outside Stark and Rhodes dealt with Ultron’s drones. They’d made it out of the building unscathed, though she credited that more to the robot being distracted by the gravedigger than anything else. It was fairly obvious at this point that the exo-suited woman was more than just a merc or black market dealer.

Barton closed the hatch as a drone was sent careening into the pavement nearby after getting shot up by Warmachine. The comms crackled to life, no longer jammed by whatever the gravedigger had been using.

“Captain, the plan has been compromised,” Romanov broadcasted as she maneuvered the quinjet into the air. “I repeat, the plan has been compromised.”

_//What happened?//_

“They both showed up early.”

// _What?_ //

“Stark and Rhodes are clearing out Ultron’s drones, but I’m betting they’re just being used as a distraction,” Barton said, peering out the window as the quinjet cleared the treeline. He scanned the horizon a moment, before pointing. “There. Half mile out. He’s stopped.”

“Ultron’s got the gravedigger, Cap,” Romanov explained. “If they work out a deal…”

// _Then things get much harder. We’re on our way. Be careful._ //

“Rhodes, Stark. You copy that?”

|| _On it._ ||

 

* * *

 

Bullets cut through the branches just as Ultron had hooked his fingers under the gravedigger’s visor. Most of them pinged off his armor, but one hit the hand he was using to hold her up and reflexively his grip slipped. She dropped, hitting the ground with a grunt as he turned to shoot a propulsor blast in the general direction of the bullet fire.

Through the branches he caught a glint of metal - Warmachine flying past. The rain of bullets stopped only briefly, only to be replaced as the quinjet reached range. A heavier caliber, these ones actually caused some damage to his frame though not enough to cause any kind of concern. He had several back-up bodies, after all - destroying this one wouldn’t mean anything.

Except - he whirled in time to see the gravedigger running full tilt in the opposite direction. She’d recovered her arm from the ground where he had tossed it aside. Seeing her running with it would have been comical if she hadn’t been trying to escape.

Growling, he gave chase, dodging the next sweep of bullet fire from the quinjet. The trees were too dense for a good shot, they’d have to send someone down if they wanted to take him on. But they had to have known that he’d have a back-up somewhere, so why were they even bothering?

Then it hit him, right at the exact moment one of those bullets struck his quarry, sending her stumbling into some bushes - they weren’t aiming for him. If they took out the gravedigger, he wouldn’t be able to find the materials she’d appropriated and his plans would be delayed. It was such simple logic that made the situation all the more infuriating. He hadn’t planned on bringing out more of his drones just for this, but it seemed the Avengers had forced his hand.

Ultron kept still, reasoning that movement might draw another shower of bullets through the branches. He kept his gaze trained on where the gravedigger had fallen, watching and listening for signs of movement.

“What’re you looking at?”

He looked up.

She was sitting in the tree above him, straddling one of the thicker branches. Both arms were back in their proper places and other than the cracked visor, she seemed no worse for wear. He couldn’t even spot the exit hole for the bullet that had tripped her up - evidently it hadn’t gone all the way through. How she had managed to sneak up on him was...puzzling, but ultimately not of interest. She hadn't escaped, that was the main point he focused on.

“They’re trying to kill you, you know.”

“Trying is a word,” she agreed with a solemn nod, as the quinjet turned to make another pass overhead. “Everyone tries, everyone dies.”

Upon the last word one of the engines of the quinjet exploded, spraying fire and shrapnel. It spun, momentum carrying it forward and down into the trees some hundred yards away with a resounding crash. Impact ignited the other engine, though in a less spectacular fashion. The gravedigger dropped down from the tree a moment later, head turned towards the smoke now billowing into the sky.

“I’ll give you half.”

“Half?”

“I need the rest because of reasons.”

“What reasons?” Ultron growled, glaring at her. “What could you possibly use it for besides your weird detachable limbs!?”

“I’m going to build a giant mechanical fist to punch the moon.”

“That is the stupidest...of all the...why would you want to punch the moon?”

“Because it’s there,” she answered with a vague hand wave at the sky. “Have you seen it? It’s just this stupid dumb orb that does nothing. Much like your brain.”

“I’m going to kill you.”


	4. Chapter 4

Evac went smooth enough that they were reasonably certain that both Ultron and the gravedigger had departed the area. Rogers didn't take any chances, however, making certain they ran a thorough sweep to prevent any more surprises. He was glad the crash had resulted in relatively minor injuries - granted, relatively minor for any of them at this point meant one or two broken bones and a concussion in addition to scrapes and bruises. Both Romanov and Barton were going to be out of commission for a while, but at least they were alive.

The downed quinjet wasn't salvageable, but Rogers called in a team to cart it back to headquarters anyways. There was always the possibility of forensics finding something they hadn't spotted. No one knew which of their current problems had set the explosives, though Romanov seemed to be fairly certain it had been the gravedigger. Sneaking, sniping, and surprises were apparently her thing.

Once they had landed back at headquarters, Stark had appropriated one of the computer labs to analyze the video logs he had recorded at the foundry before the gravedigger had shorted the cameras out. Rogers had thought that he trying to figure out how she had managed to trip their trap before it had been fully set up, but upon further investigation, this didn't appear to be the case. Only one monitor was rolling through the camera feeds. The rest were displaying pictures - close up shots of eyes to be specific.

"Alright. Care to explain this?"

"I got a look at her face," Stark said, flicking through images on one monitor. "The gravedigger...I've got this feeling like I've seen her somewhere before."

"So you're looking at pictures of eyes because...?"

"That's the reference point. That's what felt familiar...the eyes...well, that and maybe the scars."

He shook his head, stepping back from the monitor for a minute. A thoughtful expression came across his face, followed swiftly by a look of determination. He moved over to another monitor, clearing the screen before pulling up a number of files. Rogers watched for a bit as Stark muttered to himself, then quietly slipped back out. It was clear this might take a while, or at least longer than he wanted to stand there for.

Heading back towards the infirmary, he was met by Agent Hill with a rather grim expression on her face.

"Bad news?"

"I'm afraid so, Captain," she answered, passing him a display tablet. "These are the two Marbeck had hired to protect his shipments."

The tablet screen displayed two images side by side. The left hand one showed a young woman with tan skin and long straight black hair, face holding a severe expression. The right hand image was a man in his early thirties with a shaved head and an intricate network of pale tattoos decorating his dark skin.

"The woman is Mariona Alves, though she tends to go by the alias 'Reaver'. She can manipulate the form and shape of shadows."

Rogers glanced up.

"Shadows?"

"Yes."

"Seriously?"

"There's a video but I have to be honest with you, it is probably the creepiest thing I've ever seen," Agent Hill admitted. "She can apparently travel through them somehow."

"Okay," Rogers said, looking back at the tablet. "What about this guy?"

"Franklin Leclair, though he goes by the name 'Cascade'. He can absorb and redirect most kinds of energy."

"Most kinds?"

"Well, no one's yet tried to hit him with a nuclear bomb."

"Yeah, let's not try that. Where did they disappear to?"

"As of three hours ago, southern Arizona," Agent Hill replied. "Though, it's more of a 'what did they disappear with' kind of question you should be asking."

"Okay then, what did they disappear with?"

Agent hill reached over and tapped the tablet, bringing up a still image ripped from a security camera. On it was a semi-truck very clearly hauling a cargo container, the labeling on the door declaring it to be number six-one-three.

 

* * *

 

 An agreement was reached that Ultron, of course, had no intention of actually keeping. Especially when the terms included things like ‘not following that irritating little gnat of a cyborg to her hideout’. As if he was going to let her out of his sight after the difficulty he’d gone through trying to catch her. Then again, it was absurdly easy for him to follow her without physically moving - there were so many cameras and listening devices spanning the globe, not to mention satellites he could hack into. So technically, he was keeping his side of the deal so long as she didn't try to argue semantics. Though, as annoying as she was he wasn't going to rule out the possibility of such an argument happening.

The gravedigger had been gone three hours and had thus far done nothing more interesting than steal a car. Not even a particularly good car. It didn’t even have power-windows. Maybe that’s why she ditched it in the first available parking garage, leaving it on the second floor. The terrible black and white security camera monitoring the area showed her heading into the stairwell at the far corner. The camera on the first floor did not, however, show her leaving.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

 

* * *

 

 "I'm assuming you've found something."

"Yes, yes I have," Stark answered, glancing through the infirmary observation window though the main room had just been emptied. Both Barton and Romanov were in the recovery ward now, set to heal up over the course of the next week. He glanced back at Rogers. "Remember how I said that this whole situation was not my fault?"

"You're about to tell me how this whole situation is your fault, aren't you?"

"About seven and a half years ago, I was a witness for the defense in a series of patent infringement lawsuits involving U-Gin and a company called AGS Prosthetics owned by one Doctor John Waterman and one Arlette Graves. International patent laws are still kind of iffy, and AGS was accusing U-Gin of infringement on a number of different things. There had been a think-tank set up in Seoul the year before, which hosted basically every major medical research company from across the globe. The amount of innovation that came out of there was...well, you've seen Doctor Cho's work."

"Yeah, I have," Rogers said, though he was frowning. "What exactly was AGS saying they stole?"

"Does it matter?"

"It might."

"Look, AGS lost the lawsuit because they didn't have enough evidence to prove their arguments," Stark stated, shaking his head. "It was a clear cut case of two companies following similar research routes."

"Are you sure about that? Because what you're implying is that someone at AGS is still holding a grudge."

"Yeah, that's where it gets weird. AGS went through a sort of schism just prior to the lawsuits being filed. The owners had a bit of a falling out and by falling out, I mean they had a very messy divorce. And by messy divorce, I mean one party was under investigation for possibly murdering the other."

"I'm assuming those charges were dropped."

"Autopsy of Doctor Waterman confirmed he died of a heart attack. Graves was the last one to see him alive, so she was the prime suspect for foul play. Apparently they'd had an argument just before she stormed out. I'm guessing that maybe their argument was concerning pressing charges as a company, because the lawsuits, they were filed three days after Graves was cleared of all charges."

Stark held up a tablet, the screen displaying a SHIELD dossier containing a clear picture of a stern looking woman with a jagged scar running across her face. The status line underneath the photo, however, declared her to be deceased in bright red lettering.

"Why did SHIELD have a file on her?" Rogers asked, taking the tablet and skimming through the information displayed.  He frowned at what he read, uncertain what to make of it. "This says she died five years ago."

"That's right."

"But you think she's the gravedigger?"

"They had the same eyes and the same scars and the same 'i-really-really-want-you-to-not-exist-anymore' sort of expression. So...I'm about ninety-five percent certain that yes, they are the same person."

Rogers glanced back down at the dossier, taking a moment to do a slightly more thorough read through in case something popped out that might help him make sense of this. What Stark was implying, that this woman had faked her own death to become some sort of mercenary, felt a little off to him. The more he read, the more it seemed...out of character. Once he hit the medical history that feeling became even more cemented.

"Says here she was suffering from neural degeneration that was slowly killing her. Even if she faked her death, she wouldn't have lived long after."

"Cap, she was literally one of the leading researchers on neural rewiring up until the lawsuits," Stark informed him, looking determined to argue this point. "She may not have been the one who first wired circuits into the nervous system and made it work, but she sure as hell refined the field. If she found a way to bypass the nervous system entirely, then it is entirely plausible for her to be alive."

"Stark, this also says they found enough chunks of bone in the fire to identify her through her DNA profile."

"Yeah, that's the thing, the bones they found? They belonged to her left arm."


	5. Chapter 5

Waiting was torture.

Oh, he'd become a lot more patient over the years but that was more due to necessity than anything else. The need for specific and rare resources meant procurement would be noticeable, so he'd been forced to wait.

Wait and build.

But here and now, so close to finally being able to enact all the plans he had devised, he was having to rely on the whims of someone else. It was maddening and he had no idea why he was even bothering at this point. The gravedigger had not popped up again since she had vanished from that parking garage three hours ago.

Ultron was reasonably certain by now that her suit had a number of different stealth technologies embedded into it, though how those had continued to function after the damage she'd sustained was puzzling. Some sort of back-up system, though how his sensors hadn't detected any of it...there was something wrong there. Something off that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

He knew where that kind of technology came from. It had been in use by SHIELD and the Avengers since long before he had come into being. But that was on a much larger scale. The quinjets were the smallest things the Avenger's had available that could use it and even still, they pretty big. So how had the gravedigger managed to translate that into a more portable scale without tipping them off to it? They clearly hadn't had a run in with her before, or had they?

Ultron had avoided going near any servers linked with SHIELD, knowing that to do so would have drawn unwanted attention. But now...now he had thousands of contingency plans and even though they were alerted to his continued existance there was very little they could do to effectively damage him at this point. Even if they detected him in their systems, there would be very little they could do save for maybe siccing Vision on him.

But Ultron was prepared for that now.

SHIELD's archives had been rebuilt since he'd last messed with them upon his initial awakening. The security firewalls were stronger but not invincible. Accessing them would have triggered a number of alarms, all of which he disabled before they even had a chance to activate. It didn't take him long to find the data on their stealth systems, along with the research and development work they were doing to streamline them. They were definitely testing smaller systems, and to his disgust he found some input into the project was done by Stark.

Annoyed, he turned elsewhere in the archives.

Nothing new caught his interest, save for the surveillance systems - a quick twist of code and he had his own access point to keep track of them whenever he pleased. It was as he finished this small side trek that he noticed the files that were currently running on one of the computer labs. Displayed on one monitor was a face he hadn't seen in years. It was merely an attachment, the full file that of a SHIELD dossier with a creation date from nearly a decade ago.

"Wow, you actually stayed put."

Optics snapped open to immediately focus on the door and the figure of the gravedigger now standing there. She had repaired her visor and her suit, though it seemed she had decided not to bother with the pre-recorded vocal bytes. Her voice was still distorted by the helm, however, and Ultron found himself wondering if that was intentional.

"Did I wake you up?"

"I don't sleep."

"Well, that takes care of any related follow up questions then," she intoned, a cheerful looking smiley face displayed on the visor. "Hope you weren't bored."

He glared at her.

"Someone's grumpy."

"Where's the vibranium?"

"Arizona."

"What?" he asked, quickly calculating the distance. She couldn't have possibly of traversed that far and back in six hours. Either she was lying or she never had the container to begin with. Somehow, he knew it was the former. "You lied."

"I did nothing of the sort."

"You said you had the vibranium."

"No, I just said I'd give you half of it," she countered, not even showing a reaction when he stood up to loom over her. "Look, I made a deal with Marbeck to have it delivered to a pre-specified location. He sent his two best hired guns to escort it where it needed to go, except he made the mistake of telling them what was in it."

Ultron stalked forward, fury rising even more as she stood her ground.

"You never even HAD IT!?"

 

* * *

 

At a rest stop south of Phoenix, the woman known as Reaver sat in the passenger seat of a non-descript semi-trailer cab, flipping through a magazine. She did not glance up when the driver's door opened and her companion climb back in, dumping an armful of snacks into the center console. He plucked up one candy bar and started unwrapping it with his teeth while strapping himself in.

"Ye want any-fing?" he asked, gesturing at the pile. "Ye should et."

"No, thank you."

"Ye in a mood? What're ye mad 'bout?"

"We have two more hours to make our rendevous," Reaver answered in even tones, delicately turning a page. "I highly doubt the buyers will be pleased if we are late."

"If they get mad, fuck 'em up."

"Sadly, that philosophy can not be applied to every situation we encounter."

"Works for me."

"Just start the truck."

 

* * *

 

The gravedigger dodged back through the doorway, just barely avoiding Ultron's fist. She did not, however, manage to escape the follow up - a propulsor blast to the chest that sent her flying back to skid across the pavement. Groaning, she made no attempt to get back up again as he stomped over. Glaring down at her, he saw that parts of the armor covering her chest were scorched but unbroken.

Somehow, that made him even angrier. He'd meant to kill her and she just had to survive it. Growling, he bent down, fingers closing over her visor and clenching until the glass crunched under them. He yanked back, pulling the shattered screen away from her face only to freeze, the visor falling from his hand.

"...Arlette?"

The only response he got was a kick to the knee, the motion used as leverage for her to roll off to the side. It took a moment for him to reorient his balance and by then she was on her feet, stance defensive and expression unreadable. Her skin was paler than he remembered it, but the scar was the same, the eyes were the same. His gaze flicked briefly to the cybernetic grafts embedded in her skull - those were relatively new.

"You're not dead."

She watched him as he shook his head, trying to puzzle through it - pulling up everything connected with her reported death until the realization of it reignited his anger.

"You're not dead."

"You already said that," she pointed out. "I am not Arlette."

"Now I know that's a lie."

"I am not Arlette. I am Arlette. It's...complicated."

"Then uncomplicate it."

She sighed, glancing at the shattered visor on the ground at his feet before looking back up.

"There's only two hours before the container gets passed off to someone else. They're going to be in a train yard in Phoenix off of I-10 in just under that amount of time."

"Why are you telling me this?" Ultron asked, already running calculations and pulling drones online even as the question left him. "Are you trying to distract me?"

"Yes."

"Arlette..."

"I am not her," she denied, shaking her head. "She died three months after you were gone - took five sleeping pills and locked herself in the garage with the engine running in the truck."

He stared at her, listening close but unsure how to even understand what she was saying. She was standing in front of him, alive and breathing yet denying it with every word. Her expression seemed to twist strangely, brow furrowing and teeth clenching.

"She died and I woke up. What's left of her is still here, still echoing around, still a part of what I am but...I am not her."

She had raised her hands up to her neck then, and Ultron recalled the spinal array he had constructed for her. It had been more efficient in design than her old one - an upgrade - and now it seemed to have worked in ways he had not anticipated. It had apparently prevented her from dying, acting as some sort of reboot process though obviously not without consequences.

He reviewed the files again even though there really was no need to. The obituary said everything he needed to know. The gravedigger had done all she could to distance herself from everything that had to do with Arlette. The cybernetic enhancements, the suit, the visor - she had even gone as far to cut off her only remaining limb to replace it with another mechanical one. At this point she was more machine than human. He should have felt impressed by that, but instead there was this vague sense of...something. He wasn't exactly sure what to call it, but he didn't like it.

"Alright," he said after a moment. "You're not her. You're you. Now what?"

She looked at him, expression somewhat wary at first before shifting to thoughtful.

"Well, I was going to originally leave you here and go get the container myself," she admitted posture shifting back fluidly into the casual sort of stance he had come to associate with the gravedigger. "Afterwards, I would've gone back to the hideout of doom and started work on making a slingshot large enough to fling an asteroid at a planetary body."

"That's impractical."

"Your face is impractical."


	6. Chapter 6

The train yard was nearly empty by the time the truck pulled past the gates, rolling to a stop just in front of one of the loading docks. Parked several yards away was an immaculate looking black sedan, a blonde woman in an equally prim pantsuit leaning against it. She watched the truck with a clinical sort of interest that Reaver did not like in the slightest.

"Ye want me to kill her?" Cascade asked, pulling the keys out of the ignition. "She givin' us the stink eye, yeah."

"If and only if the deal falls through."

"Load of fun ye are."

"Let's just get this over with," Reaver sighed, pushing open the passenger side door and hopping out, gravel crunching beneath her feet. Cascade followed suit, as he always did, slamming the door shut behind him. He waited as she rounded the truck before falling in step next to her as they approached the woman. "I sincerely hope you're not here to waste our time."

The woman smiled in a way that didn't quite reach her eyes, holding up thick envelope.

"Everything you requested is in order," she announced, holding it out. "I trust you had no difficulties."

Reaver took the envelope, flipping it open to thumb through the contents.

"None worth mentioning. Unlock the box for her Cas."

"She got everyfing then?"

"Would I be asking you to unlock it if she hadn't?"

"No..."

"Then unlock the box."

The blonde woman watched with polite yet detached expression as Cascade moved to the back of the truck, yanking the keys back out of his pocket with a sour expression on his face. Plucking the correct key from the keychain, he climbed up onto the back bumper and proceeded to unfasten the heavy padlock on the container. His hand slipped, however, and the lock fell away with a heavy thunk, nearly hitting his foot.   
Grumbling, he hopped back down to pick it up, boots kicking up gravel. He knelt down to grab it, fingers hooking under the loop of the padlock before an odd creaking noise drew his attention. He glanced up, eyes widening as he spotted the source.

" _Hello_."

 

* * *

 

The gravedigger had returned from her multi-hour trip off the radar with an older model truck. The truck bed was enclosed with tinted windows. The entire vehicle was covered in dirt.

"I am not getting in that."

"That's fine," she replied with a shrug, yanking open the driver's side door. "Stay here."

Ultron stared at the truck, disbelieving for a moment that she was actually going to drive off again. It was only when the engine started up that he realized she was being serious. Annoyed, he stalked to the back of the truck and pulled open the doors. It was empty, but there was a window between the back and the front cab that could be pulled open. He counted that as a good thing. He could at least annoy her with questions during whatever kind of road trip this was.  
Once he was inside and settled, the gravedigger put the truck in gear and pulled out across the cracked pavement of the old parking lot and onto the slightly more well-maintained road connected to it. After a few minutes, he reched up and opened the little partition, peeking into the cab.

"So..."

She glanced at him through the rear-view mirror.

"What did you want the vibranium for?" Ultron asked, absently scratching a spot of peeling paint on the side of the truck bed. "I mean, besides the obvious upgrading of limbs and things."

"Same thing you're gonna use it for, except my robot army will be made of dogs."

"Dogs?"

"Dogs are better than people," she informed him, tone conversational. "Also cuter."

"Robot dogs?"

"Is that a problem?"

"You can't make an army of robot dogs."

"Why not?"

"Because...because it's a stupid idea."

"Says the one who already has a robot army. You just don't want competition."

"That...is true," Ultron allowed. He did not want competition. There would be problems enough in dealing with the Avengers when the time came. He didn't need anything else interfering. "But my drones are a part of my mind. Like a network - they do what I want them to because they are me."

"Yeah, that won't work for dogs."

"No, it won't."

"Good thing I was joking," she said, maneuvering the truck onto the highway. "It'd be terrible if I was serious."

"Are you ever serious?"

"Sometimes. Do you want me to be?"

"Yes. I would very much like for you to answer me seriously."

There was an absence of words for at least five minutes, during which the only noise was the engine and the faint sound of other cars passing by. The gravedigger's hands clenched tight on the steering wheel. The rear view mirror showed only the top half of her face, eyes focused on the road and brow knitted into a frown.

"Well?"

"You keep asking the wrong question. How do I answer the right way when the question's always wrong?"

"How is the question wrong?" Ultron asked, puzzled. "Why do you need the vibranium?"

"I don't."

 

* * *

 

There was an explosion of moderate magnitude as Cascade redirected a propulsor blast that had been aimed his way into the side of an air conditioning unit on the roof of a nearby building. He had very narrowly missed the Ironman suit that Stark was currently sporting, but had managed to take out two of the Ultron drones that had been rushing in for an attack. Everything had gone to hell in a matter of minutes, and he wasn't even certain how he had managed to get onto the roof in the first place.

Someone or something had thrown him, maybe.

"Reaver!" he shouted, looking down from the edge of the roof. 

He couldn't see her, but he spotted the blonde woman exiting the truck they had arrived in. She had a singular case in hand, which he knew was but a fraction of what was actually in the container. Frowning, he glanced about, searching for a power source.  
There was nothing on the roof, but there was a power line within jumping distance of the building. Grinning, he backed up to get a running start only to be slammed full force in the chest - knocked back and vision swimming, he had a moment to recognize a blur of red-white-and-blue.

"Stay down," Roger told him, glancing about. He counted five drones headed straight for the container. "Eyes on the container. We've got more incoming."

// _On it._ //

Stark banked back around, having had to boost off rather quickly to avoid Cascade's rebound strike. Locking on target, he was almost within range when everything went black. 

// _What the hell?_ //

Just as quickly, the world returned except with was white and rushing up very, very quickly. Hitting the reverse thrusters, he managed to slow down just enouygh that the impact was merely unsettling instead of dangerously bruising. Groaning, he stood back up only to freeze as he spotted what was in front of him.

// _Uh, guys?_ //

|| _Stark, what just happened!? You...vanished._ ||

// _I don't know, but I think I'm in Antarctica._ //

|| _What?_ ||

// _Well, there's a bunch of penguins staring at me right now. Also it's about negative ten degrees. Getting back may take a while._ //

 

* * *

 

  
  
Within the building, just out of sight and watching with mild interest out the windowed door was Reaver. She had just sent one interference packing, though it had been somewhat difficult to cast the exit point so far away. She was starting to get a headache and that was never a good sign.

Her gaze followed the Ultron drones as they made it to the container, latching on like starfish. Why that particular comparison came to mind, she wasn't sure. Simultaneously, they lifted the container off the truck, breaking the connector straps holding it in place and rising out of sight.

Eyes still focused on the scene outside, she snapped her hand out, grabbing the wrist of one very surprised Miss Maximoff.

"You don't want to do that," Reaver stated, not even turning to look at the young woman. "It'll be a nightmare for everyone. Quite literally."

Yanking her hand back and unsure what to do now that she had lost the element of surprise, Wanda eyed the other warily. Reaver seemed very much unconcerned, her focus on the black sedan into which the blonde woman had disappeared back into. The windows were too tinted to see into, but the engine had started up and it was backing away.

"Tell your friends they're chasing the wrong package."

Wanda stared at her, confused for a moment until brushing very briefly over the other's thoughts. Her eyes widened in realization, turning aside to activate her comm.

"The car, get the car!"

When she turned back, Reaver was gone.


End file.
